Caring is not an Advantage
by GraceBe
Summary: When he learns about Isobel's engagement to Lord Merton, Doctor Clarkson makes one last attempt to stop the wedding, but will he succeed? One shot, set at the end of series 6.


**Caring is not an Advantage **

Doctor Richard Clarkson was standing at the bottom of the staircase in Crawley House and waited for Isobel to come downstairs. To say her request had taken him by surprise was the understatement of the year. Days ago she had sought out his opinion on Lord Merton's illness and today she had ordered him to her house to secure his medical support for the very same man - who was now her fiance.

She had called him of all doctors. Instead of looking for some fancy specialist from Harley Street she came to him. With her he never knew if she was just being cruel or just conveniently oblivious.

It was so typical of her to summon him like a servant without regarding his feelings on the matter.

He had never understood her relationship with Dickie Merton or why she had fallen for him in the first place, but the glitter in her eyes when she looked at him or when someone just mentioned his name, spoke volumes. It annoyed him, pained him, because despite his own hopes and wishes, he had to accept that she would never look at him the way she looked at this man. She was drawn to him like some sort of magnet. From the moment the man had become a member of the hospital board Richard had known he wouldn't get rid off him.

There were a lot of rumours about them. He had heard about their engagement and the infamous end of it, because his offspring didn't like her. He had never asked her about it. The last thing he wanted was to make a fool of himself, but today's events created a lot of questions and he wanted, needed answers.

He heard her laughter from upstairs and her steps on the staircase. He looked up and saw her stopping dead in her tracks when she spotted him.

"Doctor Clarkson… I thought you had left," she said obviously surprised - or annoyed to see him.

"Not yet. A word, please?" He pointed to the door leading to the drawing room.

Nervously she looked upstairs as if she wanted to make sure her new fiance wouldn't have anything against her talking to another man. Since when did she ask anyone for permission? He registered her hesitation with bitterness and said, "It won't take long, but I prefer to discuss it without Lord Merton being present."

"Golly, how mysterious." He ignored her nervous sarcasm and led the way to the drawing room.

"What is it?" she asked once they were alone. "Is it something about his illness you didn't want to mention earlier?"

"No, it's not necessarily about his illness," he said and cleared his throat. He straightened his shoulders and crossed his arms behind his back. "It's about you."

She seemed puzzled. "I don't understand you."

Barely able to contain his anger, he blurted out, "Of course you don't. Just tell me one thing: have you lost your mind?"

"I beg your pardon!"

"Do you have any idea what you're doing here?"

"If you're referring to Lord Merton moving in here…"

"Humbug!" he cut her off. He really didn't care about the moral side of their new arrangement. That was something Reverend Travis could worry about. What he cared about was something entirely else. "Do you have any idea what the diagnosis "pernicious amenia" means?"

She swallowed and blushed. "I'm familiar with the diagnosis," she said. "I know he will die rather sooner than later. There's no need to remind me about that!"

"Exactly! He will die and my guess is, he won't even last till Christmas!"

Now her face turned white and immanent fear widened her eyes. "What do you want?" she asked. Her voice was shaking. Whether it was from anger or emotion he couldn't say. All he knew was that he had hit a nerve. Finally, after all these years her armour was crumbling.

"I want you to use your head! Do you even know what nursing him means? It's the most vile disease and there's no cure. Are you really ready to watch him suffer day after day? He'll perish right in front of your eyes and..."

"Are you trying to hurt me?" she blurted out, visibly shaken by his attack. Hurting her was the last thing he had in mind, but he wanted to make her see that she was committing the biggest mistake of her life, if she married a man on his deathbed.

"I'm trying to save you from yourself!" he shouted back. "There's no reason to do this to yourself! Haven't you suffered enough? First your husband, then Matthew…" He shouldn't have mentioned Matthew. He knew it before his name had slipped out of his mouth, but it was too late. He saw the shadow that crossed her face. The loss of her only son was a wound that never really closed, although she had learned to live with it. She made a step backwards, away from him.

"It's what I want!"

"That's obvious!" he scoffed, suddenly tired, suddenly regretting he had brought the subject up. It was useless to have this argument with her, but there was always this tiny ray of hope that she would take his words to heart.

For a minute neither of them said a thing. They just stared at each other. Then Isobel drew a deep breath. "The truth is I've already waited too long."

"What ever for?" he asked exasperated.

"If I had married him the first time he asked me, we wouldn't have this conversation."

"Thank you for stating the obvious!"

If she had married him they wouldn't have this conversation! He remembered the beautiful afternoon at the fair, when everything had been all right between them. Matthew had still been alive and he had believed she harboured feelings for him as well. After Matthew's death she had retreated into a shell, into a dark place where no one else had access to. He had done his best to help her out of it and after many months she had found her way back to life - but not to him. Her life after Matthew had led her to someone else.

"Please, let me finish…. I appreciate your concern. I really do, but I've made up my mind. I'm going to marry him and no one will stop me."

"As if anyone could ever stop you from anything," he mumbled. "But why marry him?" He refused to believe it was necessary for her to marry Lord Merton. She could care for him otherwise. She could stay his friend, his nurse or whatever. Lord Merton could be taken care of at Cavenham, she didn't have to become his wife…

The only idea that he had to visit Lord Merton here at Crawley House turned his stomach. It was her home and she lived here on her own. He thought of all the times he had come over for tea. They used to discuss - or argue - about the organisation of the hospital. If she became Lady Merton, she would certainly stop working as the almoner. He wouldn't see her passing his office door in the morning and he wouldn't hear her voice across the hallway… it would be over. Lady Merton wouldn't be his coworker and she wouldn't ask him for tea. Not with a husband on his deathbed.

"I think you know the answer to that," she said.

"I think it's a mistake," he said.

"I'm not a child. I know what I'm doing."

"Is he really worth the pain?" he asked and realized how raw his voice sounded. She took her time before she answered. "Every bit of it," she finally said. "And I'm sorry you are against it. I hope that one day, you can find it in your heart to feel at least a bit happy for me."

"Happy for you when you're wasting your life and your well-being?" She was asking too much.

"There's no waste when it comes to love," she said. "I thought you of all people would understand that."

He swallowed and inwardly cursed her. She knew he loved her and she used it against him.

"I'm worried about you. That's all." It was much more, but he wouldn't say it. He had bared enough of himself to her. This was his last, his final attempt to get out of the corner he had painted himself into. As always he had lost the battle, before it had started.

"I know you do, but I'll be fine." For the first time since they had entered the room she smiled. "And if I know one thing it's that I'll need a friend when… things get worse. Please, don't tell me, we'll have to call for another doctor. I mean we would, if we had to, but…" she shrugged and left the rest unsaid.

Feeling utterly beaten, he gave in. "You won't have to call for anyone else," he assured her.

'We' she had said. 'We' was a unit. 'We' was what never would include him.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I have to go upstairs again."

"Of course, you have. I'll find my way out."

She went to the door. When her hand closed around the doorknob she stopped, turned to him and said, "Doctor Clarkson?"

Their eyes met and he forced himself not to look away.

"Yes, Mrs Crawley?"

"Thank you… for caring."

"I'll always care for you."

Then she was gone. The door was left open. He took a moment to collect himself before he went into the hallway, where he grabbed his hat and bag.

He wished he would care less one day. Caring was not an advantage.

***The End***

**I found it on my harddrive and thought it was worth posting. Let me know what you think ;-)**

**Btw the title of the story is a quote from Steven Moffat I first came across in one of his Sherlock episodes. I think he was not wrong... **


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